In Passing
by Laney Y
Summary: Set straight after Honky Tonk Women. What exactly does Faye do with those 30 million woolongs? And the complete coincidence of Faye and Spike meeting in a bar one night...
1. Default Chapter

Hey everyone! This is for Rashaka, who thought up this great idea for a fic set between episodes 3 and 4. I should mention that this will be semi-Faye/Spike. Or anti-loving Spike/Faye. Or something. Let's just not label it, ok?

So the story goes... Faye's just stolen that 30 million woolongs off Spike and Jet. And disappears, right?

Happy Faye? Yes. Happy Spike? Hell no.

Disclaimer: Hmm. Not mine. Yay. Okay.

Rating: PG. For now. (smut!alert for next chapter whee!)

In Passing.

* * *

She had money. 

Well, she'd _had_ money.

In a completely past tense sort of way. But, 8 days ago, she'd had in her possession 30 million woolongs, neatly packed into a steel suitcase. But seriously, what did anyone expect? She was on _Mars_, for God's sake. The planet of casinos. And so the first thing Faye Valentine did when she landed was to haul that case straight over to _Kings and Queens_. And over the following week, lost nearly every woolong on the slots, then the tables, and then over at the ponies.

But Faye wasn't downhearted from the parting with her money. Those 8 days had been blissful; a week of spending up, treating herself to first class hotels, spas, massages, and quality restaurants in between gambling away the rest of her investment.

After all, she wasn't wasting her money; she was _enjoying_ it.

Which was why, those 8 days later, Faye was in a dim, smoky little bar, her hands curled around a drink as she watched the blurred patrons and thought about the strange circumstances that had brought her here.

Those two bounty hunters: that _gaucho_ and the old guy with the plastic arm. She smirked as she recalled how smug they'd been when they saw the bounty Gordon put on her head. And how they'd underestimated her. She still treasured that look on the gaucho's face when her Redtail's clamps had neatly whisked the case out of his grasp.

Priceless.

Of course, she was never going to see those two again. They just joined the list of people that wanted a piece of her. And she sure wasn't going to have the 30 million to _so kindly_ give back if they found her.

And the galaxy was a large place. Hell, Mars was a large place. There were thousands of bars. _Still,_ she thought reflectively, _they weren't completely hopeless. I can pick up some fuel in the morning and head off to Jupiter._

Even though the handcuffing to the toilet had been a spectacular failure on their part, Faye assumed that they wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Especially since she didn't exactly have their money anymore.

But that was if they wanted to pursue it. It didn't matter, anyway. She had more important things to think about.

Like her debt…

Or not.

Taking a sip from her drink, she cast another lazy glance about the room; the beefy guys in the corner, the broads swaying near the speakers, the younger group hovering by the pool tables. She loved these places – they gave her complete anonymity without being completely isolated from society.

_Isn't this still being alone?_

Although she loved the complete independence she had from working solo, sometimes she wondered… what it would be like to have a partner. Or friends. Not to be alone in a room full of people.

Taking a larger swallow of her drink, letting the vodka burn a swift trail down her throat, she wondered if she'd been popular before her life was royally screwed over. And she became who she was now – a refugee.

_God. I'm not drunk enough for all this_.

Faye sighed soundlessly, her hand reaching into her pocket for cigarettes. Enough alcohol and nicotine into her, and she'd be well on her way to not thinking about anything.

Funny how her life fell into patterns. She was probably such an innocent, once.

Five cigarettes left. She'd be out by morning. She might just have enough woolongs to get her properly drunk, a room, and a new packet of smokes.

And then she'd start all over again.

The bartender wiped his hands on his murky apron, and refilled her glass at her nod. As her face briefly lit up from the flame of her lighter, he noticed that while she was extremely attractive, it was in a cloudy, dark sort of way. She belonged in shadowy places; the contrast of her pale skin and dark hair made her look sultry, sly, and dangerous. But perhaps that was because of the smoky haze she was under. Either way, he hoped she wouldn't cause any trouble.

* * *

They weren't low on cash. 

Jet, always so prepared for disaster, had some emergency funds hidden away under the sink. The backup to all their backups. Which had all gone towards fixing the Bebop's hanger door, which the "infamous" Faye Valentine had decided to blow a hole through. And escape. With their 30 million woolong reward. Jet had spent at least 3 days cursing and vividly describing what he'd do to the shrew if they found her. And Spike agreed, mostly. 30 million woolongs didn't come by everyday. And all to be taken away by their prisoner. What a joke.

But he definitely had some admiration for the woman. Far from respect of course… but she'd managed to outsmart him and Jet, and that Gordon fellow with cunning and finesse. And you had to admire finesse.

She was probably half way to Europa by now, living it up on some luxury resort. She wouldn't be foolish enough to stick around; not when she was carrying that sort of cash around.

_Don't suppose I'll ever see that one again._

It was a strange thought, touched with a hint of regret. She had this attitude; irritating and interesting at the same time. Although she was rude and obnoxious, it was still a step up from the hoards of jaded, dreary people he saw on the streets. He didn't have much faith in humanity these days.

Spike searched in his pockets. He had a few woolongs; enough for a few drinks and maybe a game of pool. Jet was still working on the hanger; his current bitch of a temper making the ex-cop bad company.

So Spike left the Bebop and casually strolled down the dark streets to his favourite grimy little bar.

Faye Valentine. The feisty gypsy woman. The romani.

The whole 'encounter' had been completely extraordinary; and she'd been the strangest of all. Very mysterious, and yet very emotive. Interesting.

And very hot.

Definitely a step up from Jet, anyway. He absently wondered what would've happened if they'd kept her on the Bebop, and quickly shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts.

His favourite bar, his regular haunt, was nearly full when he arrived. There was the regular group of kids hanging by the pool table; they nodded to him as he went past. Maybe later; first he wanted a drink.

There was one stool left at the bar, next to a woman who was hunched over her drink. Spike gave the scantily clad woman an amused one-over as he sat down, waving the bartender over.

"Vodka." He said, and the bartender nodded. The woman beside him went strangely still.

Spike looked at her. In those tiny little shorts and red wrap, the woman must be freezing. But then again, females often pranced around in almost nothing; he never understood it.

So he moved a little closer. "Aren't you cold?" he asked curiously, watching her raise her face to his and being shocked into recognition by a pair of bright green eyes.

But the shock quickly passed.

"Faye Valentine." Spike exclaimed in mock surprise, his lips turning up in an amused grin. "What a surprise."

* * *

The odds were a thousand to one. What were the chances that the gaucho would come to the same bar she was in? _And sit next to her_? Where was her luck, dammit? 

She shot the gaucho a wary look and judged the distance between his hand and the gun she'd spotted peeking out of his jacket. Too close for comfort. This was bad, _really bad_. He'd want the money. She didn't have the money. People like debt collectors _never_ believed her when she said she didn't have their money.

Shit.

"If I'd known you were here, I would have brought my friend Jet." Spike leered at her. "He's _very_ interested in seeing you again."

He took a liberal mouthful of his drink, his mischievous eyes not leaving hers.

His hair was ridiculous. His face was sexy but the hair was insane. Was it green? Could hair even _be_ green?

Her hand was shaking slightly as she lit up another cigarette to calm her nerves. She needed to sober up, and _fast_.

He signalled the bartender, who refilled his drink and hers. "You're cold?"

He was an observant bastard. He had sharp eyes, which left her own to linger down her body. "Not leaving anything to the imagination. And yellow, too. Better than the casino uniform."

She knew her outfit liberally screamed _take me now_, and she cursed herself bitterly for wearing it then. Or maybe…

As she glared at him, furious and speechless, he took the opportunity to take one of her cigarettes. He used his own lighter, smoothly lighting up and avoiding her fists as she attempted to get it back.

"Get your own," she snarled, snatching the pack from the table and tucking it back in her pocket. "That's all I have."

"You owe me more than just a cigarette, don't you think?"

She stared at her empty glass. _Why is he being so damn calm about this?_ People whom she owed money didn't usually act so flippant. She felt like a fish out of water; and she _hated_ that feeling. She needed to regain control of this situation.

The bounty hunter was swirling the dregs of his drink around the bottom of his glass. He was completely relaxed, an even expression on his smooth face. He turned to her, amused at catching her staring. She signalled for another drink.

"I don't even know who you are," she informed him in her most unfriendly voice, keeping her eyes on the bartender. "and if you're going to sit there like an idiot gaucho then-"

The bounty hunter rolled his eyes. "Please." He cut her off, watching his glass being refilled. "I'm not interested in you. I want my money back. And then maybe, if you're nice, I won't turn you in to the Police." He smirked. "I'm sure _someone's_ willing to pay to get you off the streets."

Drunk or not, Faye Valentine _never_ took any shit from anyone. But before her hand found the gun resting at the small of her back, the bounty hunter already had a gun in his hand and pointing it at her under the table. He continued in a much colder voice, "Take it easy. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people."

She raised her hand; let it settle around her glass again. So walking out wasn't going to be an option. So she tried something else. Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a delicate sip with seductive flair. "Is that what you _want_ to do to me, mister bounty hunter?"

The gun didn't waver from its threatening position. However, Spike gave her an almost cheeky smile and remarked, "There's plenty of things I _want_, Faye Valentine. But they all involve getting my money back."

Faye sighed in exasperation, abandoning the sultry act. "Look, we can work something out here, can't we?" she pleaded.

The bounty hunter looked slightly bemused. "Alright, here's the deal. You give me back those 20 million woolongs, and I'll pay for the drinks."

"Don't ask me why," Faye remarked dryly, trying not to roll her eyes at this obnoxious _idiot_. "but I think I'm getting the butt end of the deal here."

He smiled at her again. "It suits me just fine."

"Alright, fine." Faye snorted. Damn, he was annoying. "I lost the money at the casino. Satisfied?"

"Yeah. Right, Faye."

"I'm not joking around, you know!" Faye retorted in indignation. "It was on the horses!"

"And I'm _really_ gonna believe that one."

Faye huffed and folded her arms. "Believe what you want. Being a stupid _gaucho_, I guess I shouldn't expect any more from you."

Spike gave her a halfhearted glare, as if he couldn't quite be bothered to make a smart comeback. "Charming." He said instead, his sarcastic tone more effective than any retort he could think of.

In reply, Faye tossed back her drink; slammed the empty glass back onto the counter. The bartender had long since left the bottle between the pair; sensing the conflict and potential danger they held. So Faye poured the drinks and held the bounty hunter's sceptical eye until he thought he believed her.

"You lost 20 million woolongs…" his face dropped into an almost comical expression of complete disbelief. "No, you're joking, right?"

Faye sipped her drink and smiled. "Maybe I am, gaucho." Since he seemed so unwilling to move she may as well enjoy it. Playing wits at a bar was _rare_.

He glared at her, alcohol rushing through his bloodstream and making him want to knock her unconscious and take her back to the Bebop. "Cut the crap, Faye." _Before I get violent or something worse_, he silently added, redirecting his glare to his half filled glass. "And stop stalling. I haven't got all night to argue with you."

"I guess it's time to get down to business, then." Faye replied in a suddenly professional voice. However, she was frantically trying to think of a way out. Escape. It was time to get out of this bar. However, the gun pointed at her beneath the table was going to make that difficult.

Spike drummed his fingers on the bench. "No hurry," he remarked sourly, over the raucous laughter from the drunks further down the bar.

"Take it easy," Faye snapped, crossing her arms over her chest while her eyes darted to the side of him. "I'm trying to think up a suitable lie, since you haven't believed anything else I've said."

He clearly found it beneath himself to reply, eyes flicking over to where one of the drunks had fallen off his chair.

Diversion. She'd need a diversion.

The bounty hunter watched the bartender signal to the bouncers at the entrance of the bar. The two idiots down the end were going to get a beating if they didn't make a quick exit.

And she'd found one.

She'd noticed the gaucho's attention on the strange pair down the end; being 'escorted' from the bar. So as they were walked past her, laughingly protesting at their treatment, she did the only thing she could think of. She stuck out her foot.

* * *

The drunk with the shock of blonde hair tumbled right over Faye's boot, and only Spike's reflexes kept him from being flattened. Instead, the blonde landed face first onto the bar, but with versatility only the drunk possess, he bounced right back up. Grabbing Spike by the arms, he loudly proclaimed the taller man's amazing reflexes. 

His dark haired friend took the opportunity to add to the drama and attempted to plead his innocence to the bouncers.

With growing irritation Spike tried to pry the drunk off him, the commotion around him blurring his vision and making it impossible to focus… on Faye.

Shit.

The blonde ceased struggling and gave Spike a surprisingly sober look. "Your beautiful friend got away." He exclaimed cheerfully.

As Spike's eyes darted towards the exit, he caught Faye's final backwards glance before she vanished out the door. She'd winked at him. She'd looked smug. And she definitely thought she'd won.

With a growl, he threw the drunk off him and sprinted after her. The pair's mirthful laughter spurred him on as he heard them both crash to the floor.

* * *

So yes. Chapter one. I reckon one more chapter will finish this baby off. And maybe an epilogue. Or something. And oh my god was that a bizarre cameo from another anime. Well, yes. 

And sorry for the editing. Damn spacing. Why doesn't ffnet _have_ that anymore? Sigh.

Oh yeah, because you're all so special, here's a preview of part two.

* * *

Chapter 2.

She thought he was sleeping. From the dim light in the bathroom, she could see his closed eyelids; see the steady rise and fall of his bare chest. Caught in a moment of contemplation, Faye noticed that his nose was slightly turned up. A pixie-nose. And he came across so tough, too. Tough guys didn't look so… cute when they slept.

She gently ran her fingers across his forehead, letting them lightly tangle in his unruly hair. Nothing. He was dead to the world; good for her because she didn't have anything to drug him with, and knocking him unconscious would attract attention in the morning. It was definitely time for her getaway.

She hadn't planned on paying for the room anyway. It was a little problem she'd planned to leave for the bounty hunter to deal with. Rolling silently off the bed, she knelt over his jacket. He was sure to have a money card on his clothes somewhere.

* * *

So! Review me! 


	2. Chapter 2

Oh yes – Zolac No Miko: This is definitely NOT a romance. I totally agree with you. Pfft, Electra.

Oh, smut – I'm just too lazy. Sorry, all. But it helps on the anti-romance thing I'm trying to aim for.

And freakin hell – this is long. But see below for good news. About this becoming longfic. Anyway. I probably should've proofread thing a bit better. I think it's okay though.

On with it. Enjoy!

Rating: Pg-13. And that's fairly generous.

Disclaimer: Seriously. No.

In Passing. 

Chapter 2.

* * *

Faye moved at a steady pace, quite satisfied at her clever escape. She'd noticed the bounty hunters anger, and knew that she was too far off for him to catch her now. Luckily. Towards the end, he was looking like he wanted a piece of her.

In a bad way.

Which was a shame. Beyond all his mocking wit, he had a strange sort of charm, which had drawn her in a little. Other bounty hunters weren't so good-natured. And he wasn't _that_ bad looking. In a skinny, fuzzy-headed kind of way. And she knew that skinny guys could go on for hours…

But it was all over now. She was debating even staying the night, now. Too risky. The bounty hunter had proved himself better than most she'd had the pleasure of being acquainted to. Not good enough to catch her, but… why ask the impossible?

Faye lit up a cigarette in complete satisfaction. Only two left in her crumpled little box, but it'd carry her through till morning. Hopefully. It depended on what else would happen. It had been a fairly fucked up evening, even by her standards.

But the best part?

She didn't pay for her drinks.

Grinning like an idiot in the darkness, Faye puffed away at her cigarette and headed back to her hotel to pack.

* * *

Spike wasn't having the best evening. After disentangling himself from that drunk guy, he had to fight his way to the doorway. Quite a mean feat, considering the amount of big burly morons who clearly decided they didn't want to move out of his way.

It was their loss, in the end.

Thankfully, he'd gotten out into the street just as his bounty turned down a side street. _Thank fucking god._ He didn't want to lose that 30 million, not after all this. And especially not to _her_. She didn't deserve it.

Still, the tiny part left of him that was sentimental and relatively good-natured was in the opinion that it had been a great night out. Well, he'd gotten fairly drunk with a fairly attractive woman, had witty conversation, _and_ gotten a cigarette. It was just the whole money factor. Spike needed that money. Which was why he was going to follow her until she lead him straight to it. He could be patient if he had to. Especially if it involved money.

He heard her chuckle to herself, and light up. His lungs picked up the familiar scent of nicotine, and he craved for a smoke. But not enough to blow his cover. Stupid wench.

Still, it wasn't all bad, he supposed. He didn't pay for his drinks.

* * *

Faye had earlier that afternoon booked a room in a middle-range Hotel, which she hadn't planned on paying for but was a suitable place for a shower and had space to park her Redtail.

The place had caught her attention from the rest because of the set of floor to ceiling glass doors. It looked classy. Unlike the rest of the dinghy hotels she'd seen on that street. Stupid sayings like "_beggars can't be choosers_" didn't relate to her. She didn't have money, but she took whatever the hell she wanted. And she wanted a classy room with hot water.

The problem with some of the more decent hotels was that they let you pay when you checked out. Faye loved it. It was like everyone was set up for her to take advantage of.

* * *

Of course she could afford a nice hotel like this one. Spike expelled his disgust in a mouthful of air. And winced. He could still smell the alcohol on his breath. The walk had freshened him up some, but not as much as he would've wanted. Oh well. He'd taken down bounties in worse conditions before.

Still, all her pleas and stories had been complete bullshit, just like he'd thought. No one claiming to have lost 30 million woolongs in a week would stay in a 300-a-night hotel.

* * *

Faye breezed through reception, where the manager was packing up behind his mahogany reception desk. She gave him a cheery wave and headed for the stairs.

Room 403 had a rather lovely scenic view of the city, and Faye would have liked to spend a few moments admiring it. However, she only gave the city lights a brief look before turned back to the room. She'd already moved most of her junk to her Redtail; clothes, food, shoes. The usual things. There wasn't much left in the room except what had been there before she arrived. Most of which, unfortunately, she couldn't take with her. However… she could happily take the hot water. There was nothing like a good shower. And working pipes.

Throwing her clothes and shoes into the centre of the room, she grabbed the crisp white towels and headed into the bathroom.

* * *

He waited until she'd started up the curved staircase before pushing through the big, tacky glass doors and over to the manager. He was a little man; short and portly, wearing big round spectacles which made his eyes look much bigger than they were.

"That's my sister." Spike said in a dangerous voice. "Which room is she staying in?"

The poor manager looked nervous, but looked through his records. "Room 403." He replied in a quavery little voice.

Spike nodded, and jogged over to the stairs. The manager knew for a fact that the pair were not related, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

Room 403. He stood outside for a few moments, wondering whether it was best to burst in guns blazing, or to sneak in and take the shrew by surprise. The faint background noise, which he'd thought was the air-conditioning, gave a clunk and stopped. The hot water pipes. Interesting.

Spike drew his gun and kicked down the door. Faye, wrapped in a towel, was standing in the centre of the room. She wasn't looking smug anymore.

* * *

"What, you followed me?" She snapped, her previous shock quickly spiralling into fury mixed with a dose of fear. Her wet hair dripped cold on her back, and she regretted taking that shower. Maybe…

His gun was firmly trained on her. "Where's the money, Faye?" He asked, all business. He wasn't going to let his eyes stray from their sight down the gun barrel. Even though they were itching and straining to.

"I've already told you, gaucho." Faye retorted quietly. Then, switching to a more sensual tone, she added, "You followed me from the bar. I'm impressed." And she took a step forward. Did her towel slip a little? Oops.

Her gun was on the ground, so that left only a few alternatives: bluff her way out, or fuck him. And bluffed had worked _so_ well last time.

Although the drunken little hormones in Spike's body were on high alert and clamouring for a little action, he was unmoved. "Come on. Quit the drama already." He said harshly, watching as she pouted.

She rolled her eyes. "_Come on_ yourself. You won't believe me no matter _what_ I say, so why waste your fucking time?"

Spike groaned, running a hand through his hair. "This is fucking ridiculous." He muttered, averting his eyes for just a second. Faye observed that he had a nice trim waist. _Damn, now I really do want a piece of him._

She patiently waited as he thought for a few moments, her arms curling around her chest.

Spike was undergoing a bit of a dilemma. He could only assume at this point, that Faye was hiding the money in her ship. And the way into her ship lay on strategic parts of her body – her jewellery. And he'd have to get at least on _comfortable_ terms with her to get in contact with them. He didn't really want to knock her out.

He looked up into Faye's amused stare, one eyebrow raised, parted lips. And he made his decision. Because, _fuck_ she looked fine when she wasn't sulking.

"No hurry there, bounty hunter," she dryly echoed what he'd said in the bar.

He gave her a lopsided smirk. "You're hardly in a position to complain." He comfortably tucked his gun away in a smooth movement that could easily have been overlooked.

But Faye was paying a lot of attention. He'd changed. Changed from being predatory in a bad way, to being predatory in an… interesting way.

The devious slant to his eyes told her exactly _what_ he was interested in.

Very interesting indeed.

"So what do you say, bounty hunter," she purred, stalking towards him. "Cut a deal?" she gently curled her fingers around the lapels on his jacket.

She took his silence as agreement.

* * *

It wasn't making love.

It was sex. Sport fucking. Whatever. It didn't meant anything.

Sex is highly overrated, and they both knew it. It was a contrived pastime, where they both conceived to take advantage of the other.

It wasn't a loving act.

It was selfishly motivated. But it worked for both of them; no strings, no attachments, no feelings. Except, perhaps the will to triumph over the other.

However, that doesn't mean they didn't enjoy it. Spike proved her theory about skinny guys, and Faye proved back that she was more than able to keep up.

* * *

She thought he was sleeping. From the dim light in the bathroom, she could see his closed eyelids; see the steady rise and fall of his bare chest. Caught in a moment of contemplation, Faye noticed that his nose was slightly turned up. A pixie-nose. And he came across so tough, too. Tough guys didn't look so… cute when they slept.

She gently ran her fingers across his forehead, letting them lightly tangle in his unruly hair. Nothing. He was dead to the world; good for her because she didn't have anything to drug him with, and knocking him unconscious would attract attention in the morning. It was definitely time for her getaway.

She hadn't planned on paying for the room anyway; a little problem she was going to leave for the bounty hunter to deal with. Rolling silently off the bed, she gathered up her clothes and quickly threw them on. Tying her sweater in the usual knot, she knelt over the gaucho's jacket. He was sure to have a money card on his clothes somewhere.

"Ah ha!" Faye's fingers found purchase on a thin sheet in the inner pocket. "Well if you're just going to leave your things around, who knows what might go missing." She held the card up to eye level. "… oh." Her face dropped as she read the amount of money Spike had. Or didn't have, for that matter. "45 woolongs. Just great." She muttered sourly.

But… it was a start.

Because now she actually had some money. She'd need it for fuel to get the hell off Mars. Holding the card in one hand, she searched for her own, planning to transfer the money over and make a hasty exit. However, those plans came to a crashing halt when she felt the cold weight of a gun barrel was pressed against her skull.

"Haven't you robbed off me enough?" Spike asked rhetorically, reaching around and reclaiming his money card from her unresisting fingers. He didn't remove the gun from its position, though.

"There's nothing there to rob, if you hadn't noticed," Faye pouted, sounding nonchalant while her mind was kicking into motion. Her gun was in reach beside the jacket, but with both hands palm down on the floor she wasn't in a position to grab it.

Her eyes slid upward and watched him as he dressed. "Can I stand up already?" she inquired sourly. "Bastard." The gun was still pointed at her. He was getting good at that.

He grabbed his jacket from the ground beside her, slung it over his shoulder. "I thought you might like it down there," he retorted, but allowed her to get up.

She rolled her eyes at him; a mannerism he was beginning to loathe. Fuck, she was an annoying shrew. And he was about to inform her of this, when her sudden attack stopped him. Her booted foot flew into the air and smoothly knocked the gun from his hand onto the carpet. As his gaze shifted, she was quick to pick up her own weapon and aim it on him.

_Dammit_. He didn't know she could fight as well. She was just full of surprises.

Her gun was steady on him as she backed towards the doorway.

"It's been fun, gaucho." She tossed him a smirk and a wave in farewell, keeping her eyes and the gun trained on him as she opened the door and backed through it.

As soon as she slammed the door behind her she broke into a sprint, hearing the bounty hunter burst out of the hotel room behind her. She leapt down the sets of stairs, her low heels skidding at each turn. Now _this_ was something she was good at. The great escape.

At the bottom of the stairwell the dark, empty foyer loomed ahead of her, and the heavy thuds of the bounty hunter's shoes as he pursued her. The Redtail was just outside and around the corner – then she'd be free.

But she didn't reach the glass doors before that he started shooting at her. "That bastard!" she exclaimed, surprised that _he_ would actually try and shoot at _her_. Surprised didn't quite cut it. Still, she had to admit that she would've done the same thing. Dammit, she should've taken his gun.

But she didn't have time to think about that. Vaulting herself over the reception desk, she whipped out her Glock and risked a glance over the counter when the shooting paused.

She could only assume he was hiding behind the stairs, because she couldn't see anything. And then came a flurry of bullets and the bounty hunter's lithe figure making a sprint and roll behind the plush couches. She sent a few return bullets into them, hoping they would pass through the padding. An explosion of feathers indicated that she'd hit a cushion or two.

She crouched with her back against the desk, gun resting against her check. It was a standoff. A stupid, ridiculous standoff where nothing could happen until one of them ran out of bullets. Or one of them got shot.

And Faye Valentine did NOT get shot.

It seemed to follow the usual pattern; one shoots, then ducks while the other shoots back… but then the bounty hunter did something different. Two shots, and the massive glass doors exploded in a shower of fractured glass.

Faye supposed it would've looked rather pretty – if it wasn't raining down directly on top of her.

_Oh shit._

She curled up into a tiny ball, letting the glass fall on and around her. Tiny splinters of glass nipped at her skin, but it was nothing serious. Besides, it was to her risk that she had so much skin exposed. Who knew?

Did he really think she'd panic and blow her position? _Men_, Faye scoffed, using her sweater to sweep the glass away from her. He'd underestimated her before, the stubborn idiot. She was hardly a pushover.

"I hope you pay for that," Faye called to him, ducking her head from the last falling fragments of glass. She peeked over the desk, caught sight of his ridiculous hairdo, and fired at it. It quickly ducked out of sight.

"I don't think so." Spike called back, a grin breaking out on his face. Who knew a standoff could be this amusing? "This is _your_ hotel, remember."

"But you broke the door!" Faye argued back. "That makes you responsible, gaucho, _not_ me." She raised her gun and fired into the couch a few times to vent her frustration.

Spike checked his remaining bullets. "With those 30 million woolongs you should easily be able to afford it." he remarked dryly.

Faye resisted the urge to march over there and throttle him. "How many times to I have to tell you, I don't have your money, okay?" She settled on sending more rounds into the cushions.

"I've heard that one before," Spike retorted.

"Well, since I spent it all and can't get it back, can't we call it even?." She really was trying everything. But even the truth wasn't getting through to the annoying, obnoxious, rude _gaucho_.

Spike grinned. He really was enjoying this. "Why should I trust you, Faye? It's not like you deserve to have the benefit of the doubt."

He received a scream of frustration and more bullets into the couch. He settled back on a pillow. His little plain was working out nicely. Getting the shrew to waste her bullets so he could go over and _finally_ get his money, and she'd be defenceless. That or the hotel owner would call the ISSP. And then he could turn her in and get her bounty as well.

It was all working out nicely.

Even better when he heard the telltale click of an empty gun.

Faye cursed.

However, Spike should've known that luck just wasn't on his side that night.

The little manager, dressed in a nightgown and sleeping cap, had hurried out from his private room behind the desk. His little eyes widened in horror as he glanced around at his destroyed foyer.

"Wh-what have you done?!" he cried out, only then realising that Faye was on the ground beside him. She smirked, her gun aiming at a new target. Things were coming back under her control.

Spike raised his head over the bullet-ridden couch, and groaned. "She hasn't got any bullets." That cunning little wench.

Faye just gave a smug smile, her gun pressed firmly against the smaller man's skull. "I don't think the manager wants me to prove that, do you?" she nudged him, and he trembled.

"N-no!" he wailed piteously. "Take whatever you want!"

Faye suddenly looked impatient. "Come on, get a move on." She ordered him, leading him lead them out towards the remains of the door. She was careful to keep the little man between herself and the bounty hunter, who had since risen from his vantage point.

"I guess that makes it three in a row, bounty hunter," she informed him with glee. It had taken all night, but she'd done it.

But he didn't seem too put out by it, and just shrugged. "I guess it does."

And he watched as she gave the manager a sharp push, and vanished out into the inky night. Another moment, and he heard the load roar of thrusters, and a ship taking flight.

The manager was cowering on the floor. Spike didn't feel too sorry for him; the glass doors were just asking for trouble. Instead of chasing her, he jogged back up to room 403, and grinned. She'd left the box of cigarettes. He lit one up, and tucked the box into his jacket pocket. The night wasn't a complete failure after all.

He'd lost again, but this time it was more of beginning than an ending. He knew they'd cross paths again.

* * *

Jet was seated at the old yellow couch, absently patting between Ein's ears as Spike came in, hands in his pockets, looking less hungover than he usually did after a night out.

"The hanger's fixed," he remarked by way of greeting.

Jet turned his head to follow Spike's movements into the kitchen. "Finished just this morning. Where did you go?"

Spike didn't reply straight away, leaving Jet to worry about all the things his partner could've gotten up to. "Well?" he insisted as Spike re-entered the room holding a cup off coffee.

"I was going after a bounty," Spike said, shooing Ein off the couch and settling down in the empty spot.

"Oh." Jet was pleasantly surprised. "And?"

Spike shrugged with his usual wry smile. "They got away." And he switched on the screen with his toe and let the Big Shot theme drown out Jet's exasperated groan.

* * *

Days later…

* * *

"You might as well let me go, you've lost." Twinkle Murdoch finished the little speech with her usual disdainful sneer. She ignored that Spike looked so bored he was about to fall asleep.

But Jet looked thoughtful. "Not quite," he remarked, rubbing his chin. "There's something behind all this…"

The quiet beep of incoming communication interrupted his train of thought.

With a burst of static, they heard:

"_Hiiii_, I just picked up your signal, and well, I have a slight problem. I'm kind of out of fuel at the moment."

Spike leaned closer to the screen, mouth open in surprise.

"I don't believe it." Jet managed to say.

"… if you could just take me to Ganymede, I'd be _very_ appreciative."

Spike grinned nastily. It wasn't the end after all.

* * *

* * *

Yeah – so that took longer than I thought. And good news for ye readers! It does NOT end there. Ohh, no. It can only get better (and angstier) from here… is that even a word? Ahh well. It is now.

Ahh yes – thanks so kindly for reviewing! Especially those (Kendra I love you forever) who went on to read all my other fics as well. So yes. I love you. Keep up the good work.


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